


Heartless

by SocialBookWorm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous insanity?, Angst, Blood, Denial, Grief, Mutism, Pain, Pain everywhere and I am not sorry, Really really bad ways of dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialBookWorm/pseuds/SocialBookWorm
Summary: It hurt more than any of them could have expected





	Heartless

Everything was silent. Logan drifted through the kitchen, eyes skittering away from the dishes still sitting in the sink. If they weren’t washed soon then the mold growing in them would only worsen. Logan acknowledged that simply dismissing their physical form would be quicker and more efficient, yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. The mere suggestion of one of them doing them by hand had set off a screaming match, and the topic had been dropped.

The logical trait opened the cupboards, wincing at the creek that the action made. It was almost a source of self-flagellation, to do this, but it also brought a form of quiet comfort. So Logan continued to grab the ‘Best Dad in the World!!’ mug and carefully fill it with the sweet drink it was meant for. Logan had been reliably informed by Pa- that hot cocoa could only be drunk when covered with whipped cream and topped with rainbow sprinkles so he added those as well, movements smooth and habitual.

He cupped the mug in his hands feeling the warmth of the liquid inside as he settled himself at the table. The emptiness of the room pressed down on his chest and Logan closed his eyes, letting the grief run through him. His next breath shuddered as he took it, and if he didn’t open his eyes he could pretend that it was simply another early morning. That any moment Patton would come bounding in, full of energy and making a pun-

Logan was eternally disappointed, not surprised but disappointed, when he was met with the never ending silence.

He had read once that speaking as if the loved one was there helped with coping and yet Logan couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. Words had shriveled and died in his throat, no matter how many times Logan had wished otherwise. The apologies, pleas, confessions of love and of guilt, even simple words of talking about his day failed him.

(Logic could only recite empty facts without Emotion behind them, silenced by passion.)

He bowed over the cooling hot cocoa, biting his lip to hold back sobs. Tears dripped into the drink, spoiling his perfectly done presentation. Logan didn’t care. He wasn’t going to drink it in the end. Soft laughter drifted from the direction of Virgil’s room, and Logan wondered how he could make such a sound. Virgil and Patton had been even closer, in his opinion, so how? Logan desperately wanted to know.

It wasn’t  _ fair _ . The Heart was dead, so why did it hurt so much?

* * *

Roman knew it was unhealthy, which he figured that knowing that would help him one day break the habit. But not today, today he let himself be buried in the fantasy around him.

“What you thinking about kiddo?” Patton asked, playing with his hair, and Roman sunk into the touch.

“You,” He replied truthfully, “Me. This.”

Patton’s thigh was warm under his cheek and Roman closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations. Fantasies never lasted forever, but Roman wanted to believe they did. He could stay here forever, in the Imagination where everything could be shaped as he desired. Without Patton in the mind to anchor him back, without Patton to fuel him, his way out would eventually fade, but Roman wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.

(What was Creativity without Heart? Empty echoes of old ideas.)

“Do you want me to go?” The question was quiet, almost heartbroken and Roman flinched in his lap.

“No!” Roman reached blindly around, holding Patton’s hands in a (death) tight grip, knuckles turning white. He trembled, pressing his face into Patton’s stomach. It was almost as good as the real thing, and Roman tried to ignore the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Never, I would  _ never _ want you to leave Patton. Please, don’t leave. Never ever leave me. Please-”

Patton gathered him close, tangling their limbs together, and Roman wished that it was real. That he could fade into the feeling of love and warmth and meld with the other side until no one knew where one started and the other ended. He wanted to lose his grip on what was real and what wasn’t. He wanted to stay here, where it was warm and perfect and nothing hurt.

Roman was an actor, he could pretend forever if he needed to. To fight back the images he wasn’t sure any of them could forget, Roman was willing to never move again. A chill wind brushed through his hair, and he tightened his grip on Patton, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter as something warm and wet slipped through his fingers. Iron sat heavy on his tongue before he took a deep breath and centered himself.

Patton was fine. Roman was fine.

If he faked it long enough maybe he’d make it.

* * *

The shadows licked at the corner of the room, mist like and heavy for all that Virgil was ignoring them. He leaned back against the bed, his hands shaking and his hair greasy against his forehead as he laughed again. It sounded hoarse even to his ears, but soft and fond and Virgil never wanted to stop.

He didn’t reach out to touch, Patton flinched away whenever he did but it was fine.

_ He’s not real _ , the shadows whispered to him, and Virgil fought back the urge to hiss at them.

“Kiddo?” Patton asked, and Virgil’s eyes locked back onto him before skittering away. The world seemed to waver whenever he looked directly at Pat, but that was fine. Virgil was fine. He gave Patton a shaky smile.

“I’m fine Pat,” Virgil said softly, “Really, just- just spacing out a little bit.”   
  
Patton giggled and Virgil turned towards the sound like a flower towards the sun. A shadow wound around his ankle and Virgil flinched back at the sudden deadness that encompassed Patton’s eyes. A trickle of blood wound down Patton’s temple and Virgil shook his head to rid himself of the image.

“Virge?” Patton repeated and Virgil blinked as he returned to normal. “You sure? Because golly you look like you’re on the  _ verge _ of an attack!”

Virgil laughed again, this time a little more hysterical, and Patton’s form wavered again. Red streaked across blue and Virgil’s hands snapped up to dig at his eyes. Panic crashed over him in a wave and Virgil’s breath hitched. 

“Let me pretend,” he moaned, and his nails scratched at his eyelids, “Let me  _ forget _ .”

“You look like you’ve seen a  _ ghost _ ,” Patton’s voice echoed through his room and Virgil shuddered, sobs echoing around the room until they rose higher and higher into pained laughter. He swiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie, and grinned back at Patton. His panic dissipated as Patton reached out and cupped his cheek with an ice cold hand.

Virgil couldn’t remember why he had panicked, but it was fine. Patton was here and he made everything better.

“I’ll never leave you,” Patton whispered, “not again.”

Patton had promised after all.


End file.
